m o r t e
by justkissmeidiot
Summary: this is my suicide letter addressed to you, my dearest.  warning:  character deaths.
1. lovino

this is my goodbye letter addressed to you, my dearest

this is my i-wish-i-could-handle-it-but-i-can't-and-oh-god-it-_hurts_ letter addressed to you, my dearest

this is my pain-killing-_acetaminophen_-heart-numbing letter addressed to you, my dearest

this is my suicide letter addressed to you, my dearest.

oh love, don't panic needlessly; there isn't a thing you can do now.

by the time you get this in the mail,

check your mailbox,

open this,

and read it,

i would be long gone

and you must know this;

i must have been "missing" for at least a week now,

that is,

if anyone has even noticed my absence yet

… and no one probably has.

i can imagine perfectly your reaction to this. it's almost funny.

you will cry, and blame yourself (oh, but love, please don't; it's not your fault, it's not it's not it's not) but you will quickly get over it

you will quickly forget that anyone named "romano"

named "lovino vargas"

ever existed.

"another italy?" you'd say, "what are you talking about?

there is only one italy,

there has never been another."

good.

forget about me.

forget that lovino vargas existed

forget that lovino vargas killed himself

forget that lovino vargas loved you.

because i do—

love you, i mean.

haven't i ever told you?

i haven't?

well

i love you i love you i love you

ti amo

te amo

i

love

you.

and that is why i must go, you see,

because i love you,

and i can't have you,

and it hurts.

it hurts it hurts it hurts

and no amount of painkillers can possibly make the pain go away

no amount of painkillers can numb the ache in my heart.

i know,

because i've tried.

it killed me couple of times, you know,

the painkillers,

the overdose,

but i am a nation

and it is hard to stay dead.

thirty-two.

that is the number of times i have died now

how many times until i stay dead?

but i am becoming weaker

there is little use for me in the world,

the world doesn't need two italies.

i can slowly feel myself fading

soon i will be gone

when you get this letter,

i will be gone.

which reminds me:

you must be wondering why i am writing this,

what the purpose of this letter is.

it is simple:

closure.

i have far too many regrets in my life,

i will not let having never told you i love you be one.

in any case,

everything must have a conclusion,

a period to punctuate the end.

this is my conclusion.

this

is

my

end.

.

.

.

(antonio, i love you

please

live

and

forget

and

forgive me)


	2. antonio

It had started as a normal day.

Antonio had gotten up (three hours after his alarm clock had gone off, as per usual), dragged himself into the shower, dressed, and eaten.

Then, as usual, he went to check the mail before heading off to work.

He flipped through the mail, eyes barely registering the names of the addressors.

_Bills, bills, bills, junk, bills, Lovino, junk, bills,wait—_

Mail from Lovino?

That was rare; his former henchman disliked writing to him, and hardly ever did. The neat, loopy handwriting (for Lovino was a perfectionist, and even his handwriting had to be _perfect_) was unmistakable, though, and it made Antonio smile. This letter could join various items in his collection of "things from Lovino."

Antonio glanced at his watch and decided that he had time to spare before he was expected at work (and really, he was already late, so why hurry?) so he hurried back into his home, carefully opening the envelope as he did so. He couldn't wait to read what Lovino had written. What could it possibly be? Maybe it was an invitation to some sort of party (though Lovino was, admittedly, not the partying sort), or a late (very late) "happy birthday" card, or maybe—

His grin faded and his thoughts stopped as he read the first line.

"_this is my goodbye letter addressed to you, my dearest_"

no.

"_this is my i-wish-i-could-handle-it-but-i-can't-and-oh-god-it-hurts letter addressed to you, my dearest"_

nononoitcan'tbe-

"_this is my pain-killing-_acetaminophen_-heart-numbing letter addressed to you, my dearest"_

_please_nodon'tletitbe-

"_this is my suicide letter addressed to you, my dearest."_

Antonio felt his world begin shattering as he quickly read through the letter, quicklyquicklyquickly, and he could hear his heart pounding because his dear, sweet, Lovino was-

No.

He read and re-read the letter, frantically searching for the "just kidding, dumbass" written in that neat, lovely handwriting, only the words were nowhere to be found and—

No.

This couldn't be true.

It had to be a lie, because Lovino didn't (didn't, past tense because—no) love him. Of course not. There was simply _no way _that Lovino loved (past tense past tense, always past tense) Antonio the same way Antonio loved (this shouldn't be past tense, oh no, because Antonio _loves_, he does, and always will) him. It simply wasn't possible.

And Antonio

fell

to

the

ground

as his legs became too weak to support his weight

as he realized that this was real

as he realized that the man he was hopelessly, undeniably, irrevocably in love with is dead.

And when he hit the ground, his world and heart shattered.

And his life as he knew it, as everyone knew it, ended.


End file.
